


Lost and Found

by uena



Series: The Sweetest Thing [15]
Category: The Musketeers (2014)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Fluff, Light Dom/sub, M/M, Sex Toys
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-10-02
Updated: 2015-10-09
Packaged: 2018-04-24 11:17:42
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 6,280
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4917499
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/uena/pseuds/uena
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Athos is painting, and Porthos and Aramis have a lot of time to themselves.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [princeyoungjaes](https://archiveofourown.org/users/princeyoungjaes/gifts).



"I miss Athos." Aramis sighs and burrows closer to Porthos, closes his eyes. 

It is a Sunday, they have just enjoyed a late breakfast, and the sofa was the logical next step with the steady rain beating against the apartment windows, turning all light to grey. Now that the two of them lie side by side, and Porthos has put his arm around Aramis to keep him close and warm, it is only natural that Aramis' thoughts wander to what's missing. Or rather who. "How long do you think he'll stay in there?" 

For Athos is in his room, has been in there for at least two YEARS. Aramis doesn't like it. He appreciates art as much as the next man, but he appreciates Athos more. 

"I've no idea what he's workin' on," Porthos murmurs in reply, sounding sleepy. He's had an exhausting week, Aramis knows, with half of the orphanage's inhabitants laid low by the flu, and the other half maddeningly bent on mischief. So Aramis brushes a kiss to Porthos' cheek, strokes his fingers through his curls, and falls silent. For a minute or two. 

"Do you think he should paint? I mean his hand is still all black and blue, and -" 

"He's fine," Porthos interrupts him, amusement warming his voice; "and so is his hand. He didn't break it, Aramis – it's just a little tender." 

It's been a week since the fateful day – since Athos lashed out at Andy and broke his nose, and Aramis made a few interesting discoveries in the process. _One_ , that Athos and Porthos love him as much as they love each other, and that their fierce protectiveness will keep him safe and warm for as long as he lets them. _Two_ , that Andy Mills is a jerk. That he's always been one. A handsome jerk, yes, with a charming smile and beautiful blue eyes, but still a jerk. 

The realisation of that fact, in combination with a somewhat unavoidable sensation of purest relief, still acts like a tonic on Aramis whenever he thinks about it. For years he was convinced he'd ruined the man's life – and his sister's with it. But Melinda is surely better off without a guy who would cheat on her at every opportunity, and she couldn't love Luke and her kids any more if she tried. Plus, Aramis didn't destroy Andy's life. 

It's a bit difficult to accept, after all these years, but still a fact. He's not the one to blame. After all this time, Aramis is free. He sighs and snuggles closer to Porthos, brushes a kiss to the hollow of his throat. Porthos' complete lack of reaction alerts Aramis to the fact that he's fallen asleep on him, and he huffs. Great. Now what. He's notoriously bad at entertaining himself. For a moment he stays where he is, enjoying Porthos' warmth and the way his breath stirs the hairs on the left side of Aramis' head, then he absolutely _has_ to move. His feet are getting cold. It's still too warm for a blanket, but it's never too warm for fluffy oversized socks, so Aramis shuffles into Porthos' room instead of his own, and opens Porthos' sock drawer. 

Only it's not Porthos' sock drawer. 

… Well. It could be. If you were particularly creative with metaphors and rhymes – especially rhymes – this could, by all means and purposes, be a sock drawer. Aramis' eyes goggle. His heart-rate speeds up to alarming levels. He gets half hard, just from looking. 

He's found Porthos' _toys_. His big-boy toys. … Metaphor. Very apt one. Jesus. 

Then again "found" is not quite the right word. _Found_ implies that Porthos was hiding them, and THIS IS NOT HIDING. This is flaunting to the extreme; all that's missing is the neon sign, complete with arrow and everything, saying COME HERE HAVE A LOOK I'M KINKY AS HELL AND WOULD LIKE TO GIVE YOU IDEAS. With that kind of sign around Aramis would at least have been prepared. Matters being as they are, he's rather overwhelmed. 

It's not that he doesn't own a dildo, or handcuffs. Everyone does, as far as he's aware; it's not that big a deal (unless of course the dildo is particularly large). But not only is Porthos' dildo collection vast and varied, the not-sock drawer also contains a few things that make Aramis' mouth go dry on further inspection. There are the obligatory handcuffs, shiny and sturdy – with leather bindings for the wrists, for utmost comfort (or so Aramis guesses). They come in a set with a collar and a whip. Obviously. There's a blindfold. A rope. Very soft. Again, for utmost comfort. (Aramis is getting rather short of breath.) There are some things running on batteries that he doesn't want to speculate about without professional help and a hand down his pants. More rope. Gloves. Lube of all tastes and colours. 

Porthos, in the open door, raking his hand through his sleep-mussed curls. "What are you doin'?" 

Aramis squeaks, closes the drawer with a rather violent shove, and turns to face him. "Nothing!" 

He's bright red, and Porthos blinks at him. "What's the matter?" 

Aramis hangs his head. "I was looking for socks." 

"So? You're welcome to my sock-drawer." He yawns. "What are you so fidgety for?" 

"I didn't find the socks," Aramis confesses, staring at a point somewhere to the left of Porthos' face. "I found … something else." 

"Somethin' -" Porthos starts, and then he stops. There's a pause. "Oh," he says then. "Well. Sorry about that. Didn't wanna throw them away." 

"Throw them away?!" Aramis echoes, so much scandalized horror in his voice that Porthos can be in no doubt as to Aramis' attitude regarding his findings. There's another pause. Aramis' blood runs hot enough to boil. 

"Heh," Porthos says eventually, sounding horribly smug. "Alright then."


	2. Chapter 2

Porthos steps into the room, and very softly closes the door behind him. Aramis watches him advance, wide-eyed and breathless, tasting his own heartbeat in his throat; and then Porthos is there, right in front of him, tall and broad-shouldered and _smiling_. Aramis tries to control his breathing, licks his lips. 

For a man who just woke up Porthos looks remarkably alert. Like a predator, ready to strike. Then he leans in, slowly but with intent, brushes his mouth to Aramis' with a gentleness that is at odd variance with his overpowering physique. Aramis can't but give in to him – closes his eyes and sighs. He raises up to meet the kiss more comfortably, holds on to the front of Porthos' t-shirt. 

It's over far too soon, and even while Porthos' lips are still on his, Aramis notices Porthos' arm reach out to the dresser next to him, hears one of the drawers slide open. Aramis knows which drawer it is, and he blushes. He is still half hard from his findings, and this new stimulation, be it ever so subtle, doesn't help him to calm down. 

"You wanna have a closer look?" Porthos asks him in a low voice, and that's all it takes: Aramis is ready to go to his knees for him. So far Porthos has always been so gentle with him, so careful and restrained that the suggestive tone of Porthos' voice alone is enough to overcome him now. 

"Yes," Aramis whispers; and then he turns, and looks, with his fingers still tangled in Porthos' shirt, while Porthos remains next to him, silent and steady. 

Their breathing sounds very loud in the silence of the room, and after a while Porthos puts his arm around Aramis' shoulders, gives him a gentle squeeze. "This really affects you, doesn't it?" 

"Yes," Aramis admits in a small voice. 

"Wanna go back to the living room?" Porthos asks, back to careful and restrained, and Aramis shakes his head. He's safe with Porthos. He can let go. "I want to stay here," he says, licks his lips again. "I want you to … to show me." 

Porthos' hand on his shoulder slides lower then, between his shoulder blades and down, until it comes to rest on the small of his back. "You're sure?" 

Aramis nods. "Yes." 

That one small word is all it takes for Porthos to move closer to him, to pull him flush against his side and spread a possessive hand over Aramis' hip. "Alright." 

Aramis feels weak, feels weak in his whole body, but it doesn't matter. Porthos is holding him, is holding him tight, and he will not let him fall. 

"Have a look then," Porthos murmurs, so very close to his ear, his breath hot on Aramis' skin. "See anythin' you wanna try?" 

Aramis wants to try everything – but maybe not all at once. He bites his lip and swallows dryly, reaches for the cuffs, lifts them out of the drawer. 

"The classics, eh?" Porthos says, the approval thick in his voice. "Want me to tie you to the bed?" 

Aramis shivers and nods, and his gaze falls on a sleek black dildo of absolutely perfect size. He takes that out of the drawer too. Porthos' fingers close over his suddenly, warm and firm, and then Porthos is kissing him again, is licking into his mouth and making Aramis' eyes roll back into his head. Aramis can't think straight; Porthos is so close, is kissing him so greedily – without inhibition or finesse. It's dirty and hot, and Aramis moans, presses closer to Porthos and rubs up against him – seeking friction for his hardening cock. 

Both handcuffs and dildo fall back into the drawer, unheeded. Porthos makes a pleased noise, a low rumble deep in his chest, and Aramis shivers again, wants to cling to Porthos and hold on tight, wants Porthos to have his way with him and never let him come up for air. He wants to let go. 

Aramis whimpers when Porthos finally breaks the kiss, chases that hot mouth and rolls his hips forward, desperate to be taken care of. 

"Let me take you to bed, kitten," Porthos says gently, and then he lifts Aramis up, grabs his ass and gives it a good squeeze. Aramis nearly comes into his shorts. He's already slipping, is already losing coherence, and it's starting to feel like it did when he was sixteen – when everything was fresh and new, and he was so in love that he couldn't think straight. Porthos carries him over to the bed, lets him down oh so gently, moves him up the mattress amidst kisses and groping. Once he has Aramis where he wants him, Porthos lies down next to him, looks into his eyes. "You still good?" 

"Very," Aramis says fervently. 

It's true, is the beautiful thing. Aramis can't wait for Porthos to bring his toys to bed and … play with him. He blushes, and bites his lip, and looks at Porthos through his lashes. Porthos grins at him. "You're awful cute, you know that, right?" 

Aramis loves him so much that the words almost slip out. 

"I'm gonna take very good care of you," Porthos promises. "But if you wanna stop at any point, you just have to say the word. Bein' tied up is not for everyone." 

"I trust you," Aramis says softly. 

Judging by the look on Porthos' face, those three words are just as precious to him as the ones Aramis won't allow himself to say yet. He kisses Aramis again, pulls him closer and holds him so very tight that it teases another moan out of Aramis. Aramis wants to be naked, wants to be closer to Porthos, wants to feel him – so he spreads his legs, starts to pull on Porthos' clothing, impatient and needy. His eagerness makes Porthos chuckle, but he gives in. He pulls back from their kiss to unbutton Aramis' plaid shirt – calls him a pretentious little hipster as he kisses his way down Aramis' chest and belly. His lips feel amazing on Aramis' skin, soft and scorching at once, and Aramis grabs the sheets with both hands, has to close his eyes for a moment. 

"You own more plaid shirts than I do," he eventually justifies himself. His words are interrupted by breathless moans, and he opens his eyes to stare at the ceiling. "This is your shirt!" 

"When I'm wearin' em it's farmer's market chic," Porthos clarifies, before opening and pulling down Aramis' pants. With his teeth. Aramis is staring down at him, at his smile and his curls and the irresistible gleam in his eyes, and he has no idea how he ended up here, in this bed, with this man. He must have done something terribly right.


	3. Chapter 3

Aramis is naked on the bed; his legs are spread, and his eyes are closed, and Porthos' fingers are two knuckles deep in his ass. He's out of breath, covered in sweat – glistening, Porthos tells him – and his hair is a mess from the way Porthos keeps gripping and playing with it. Aramis has no idea how he hasn't come yet. The stretch of Porthos' fingers inside of him is delicious, sends sparks of heat down to his toes and up his spine, makes him arch his back and gasp for air. 

Already it's too much. He wants so much more. 

"Porthos," he gasps, bites his lip and fails to hold down a helpless moan, "Porthos, _please_." The man in question is currently kissing his way down Aramis' torso – keeps pausing to lick and bite and _mark_ , and Aramis is losing his mind. "You promised," he whimpers, manages to loosen his iron grip on the sheets to tangle them in Porthos' curls instead. "You, ah, you _promised_ me, Porthos." 

Porthos interrupts his treatment of one over-sensitive nipple and looks up, his eyes dark and mischievous. "I don't remember no promises, kitten." 

His mouth looks positively sinful, lips red and slick and curved around a dirty little grin. Aramis pulls on his curls, none too gently. "Please." 

The grin morphs into a smile, and then Porthos pulls his fingers out, comes up to Aramis and holds himself above him – looks into his eyes. "You want the handcuffs?" 

"Yes," Aramis says, swallowing drily, clenching his empty hole. "I want the handcuffs." 

"And the dildo?" 

"The black one," Aramis confirms eagerly. "Please." 

For a moment Porthos keeps looking at him, then he leans in, covers Aramis' mouth with his own. The kiss is surprisingly sweet after the way Porthos lay waste to Aramis' defences, but Aramis fails to hold in a moan nevertheless. He finds it difficult to let go of Porthos when he pulls back, follows him with his eyes when he moves off the bed and towards the drawer with his toys inside. Unlike Aramis, Porthos isn't naked. He's taken off his t-shirt and his jeans, but he's still in his boxer-briefs – sitting maddeningly low on his hips. He turns his back to Aramis for a moment, while he takes handcuffs and dildo and his favourite kind of lube out of the drawer, and Aramis gets lost, staring at him. Those shoulders - 

Porthos turns back around, holding his loot in his hands, and Aramis moans again, all too aware of the picture he must present. Porthos looks utterly pleased. Still, he asks, "You still good, kitten?" 

"Come back to bed," is all Aramis gets out in return. 

Porthos smiles and does as he's asked. He deposits his supplies on the bedside table, and then he's back with Aramis – is kissing him again. He moves on top of Aramis, grabs his wrists and pushes them into the mattress above Aramis' head. He does it slowly and deliberately, and Aramis can't help but push his hips up in reaction – can't help but moan and spread himself wide open in invitation. His hole feels empty without Porthos' fingers, and he wants to be full again. 

As if he's read his mind, Porthos reaches down between them, stokes his hand over Aramis' twitching abs and belly, reaches behind Aramis' balls. "You want that dildo now?" He follows the question up with pushing three fingers inside Aramis, and Aramis keens, goes completely boneless. 

"Porthos," he hears himself moan, that and nothing else, again and again, until Porthos pulls his fingers out and leaves him empty yet again. Aramis feels wrecked, just from that, and he has to blink a few tears out of his eyes, finds it very difficult to cling to his sanity. 

"Do you want it now, Aramis?" Porthos repeats his question, soft and enticing, and Aramis finds himself nodding, weak but decisive. 

"Yes." 

"Good boy," Porthos murmurs – makes Aramis' cock twitch against his belly, leaving smears of precome. Porthos smirks. "You like that, eh?" 

Aramis is going to die; and he's going to love it. He watches Porthos reach out and take the dildo off the nightstand, watches him warm it between his hands before he applies a generous amount of lube. The slick black thing looks ridiculously large in Porthos' hands, and Aramis can't stop staring at it. 

"This is gonna fill you up nicely," Porthos promises him in a low, dirty voice. "Keep you nice and open for me while I play with you." 

He turns Aramis on his front without warning, tells him to lift his ass. Aramis whimpers and obeys. He already feels so weak, but he manages to get onto his knees. Porthos steadies him with his left hand, strokes it over Aramis' hip for a moment, until Aramis has settled into the new position. "That's very good, darlin'." 

Aramis moans, spreads his legs. 

"Filling you up now," Porthos warns him, pressing the tip of the dildo against Aramis' opening. He leaves it there for some time, rotates the shaft while increasing the pressure ever so lightly, without ever pushing in – making Aramis sob with need. 

When Porthos finally does push it inside Aramis is too grateful to even attempt control: he moans without inhibition, pushes his ass back – wants it inside so much faster, so much deeper. Porthos' hand on his hip steadies him, gives him something to focus on beside the pleasure, and Aramis will never forget the way it presses into his skin. The way it feels like a part of him.


	4. Chapter 4

"Does it feel good?" Porthos' voice is soft, and low, and there's a tinge of concern in it. He is honestly worried for Aramis' well-being, and that is almost as intoxicating as everything else. 

Aramis sighs. "Spectacular." 

His shameless bliss makes Porthos chuckle, and he strokes one big hand over Aramis' ass, gives it a gentle squeeze. "Nice and full, eh?" 

Aramis is still on his knees, with his ass in the air and his face mushed into the pillow, and while he has no idea how to get back on his back with the dildo so deep inside, he doesn't really care either. He's so _full_. It's amazing. The dildo feels nothing like a real cock – it's too hard and too smooth – but it stretches Aramis' hole in a toe-curling way, and fills him deep enough to send tickling sparks of pleasure to his navel of all places. 

Plus it's only a placeholder for the real thing. The real thing being Porthos, who's stroking his hand over Aramis' back and ass, gentle and warm, until he lets it rest on Aramis' hip. "You gotten' used to it yet?" 

"Mh-hm," Aramis says, trying to keep his eyes open and his mind in the present. He keeps clenching around the dildo, wants it to move – to fuck into him and give him the friction he needs. 

"Eh, none of that yet," Porthos murmurs, giving his ass a gentle slap that startles a surprised moan out of Aramis. "You asked me to play with you, remember?" He puts Aramis on his back then, applies his strength with such care that Aramis feels like floating. "There," he says once Aramis is stretched out on the mattress, the dildo pushing so much deeper into him thanks to the new position, "all ready." 

Aramis doesn't feel ready. Aramis feels as if he's going to die. Happily. 

"I'm gonna come," he slurs, twitching and shivering with arousal. "Porthos, I'm gonna -" 

Porthos moves closer to him, and Aramis groans, blinks against the flecks of light obstructing his vision. Porthos has closed his thumb and forefinger around the base of Aramis' cock, effectively preventing him from climaxing. It is the most delicious torture, and Aramis whimpers, tries to move, tries to get away from that merciless grip. 

"No comin' yet," Porthos tells him, a smile in his voice. "Don't make me put a cock-ring on you." 

Aramis' eyes fly wide open at the words, and his breath stutters out of his chest and in again as his mind tries to comprehend what's going on and his body is helplessly overwhelmed by conflicting sources of stimulation. "Porthos," he whines, and he remembers that he has hands, reaches out to him and tries to pull him closer. 

Porthos' smile widens, and he gives in after a little moment – lies down beside Aramis so he can kiss him. But he never lets go of Aramis' cock, keeps his fingers tight around the base. 

"Calmed down?" he asks Aramis after a few minutes of kissing, and Aramis nods, somewhat sluggishly. 

"I'm feeling all weird." 

"In a good way?" Porthos checks, nuzzling Aramis' cheek before pulling back to look into his eyes. 

"The best," Aramis confirms. He sighs. "Tie me up now, please." 

Porthos' eyes crinkle in a smile, and he brushes a kiss to the tip of Aramis' nose. "You're very demandin', kitten." But he lets go of Aramis' cock, eyeing it suspiciously for a second or two. "No comin', you hear me?" 

Aramis feels tempted to giggle. It passes when Porthos grabs the cuffs from the nightstand. He closes the leather straps around Aramis' wrists, just tight enough to make Aramis' breath hitch – and then he pushes his hands up, makes Aramis extend his arms until he can fix the cuffs to the bedframe … to the handy little bar connecting the two parts of the headboard. 

"Neat, isn't it?" Porthos comments, satisfaction dripping from the words like honey. He strokes his hands along Aramis' arms, from his bound wrists to his elbows, from his elbows to his shoulders. He's gentle, and focused, and possessive, and Aramis shivers with helpless arousal. "Does that feel good for you?" Porthos asks, and Aramis nods, licks his lips and takes a deep breath. 

"Yes, it does." 

Porthos presses a kiss to his left shoulder. "Good." He tilts his head, looks at Aramis for a long, long moment. "I'm gonna wreck you, you know." 

"I know," Aramis whispers in reply. He spreads his legs, feels the dildo shift inside him and moans – feels so very tempted to arch his back, to move and move and move until he comes from the thing inside him, until its blunt pressure drives him insane. 

"No reason why you should wreck yourself," Porthos comments with a dirty leer, and then he moves on top of Aramis, and makes good on all his promises. He doesn't give Aramis his weight, but he gives him his lips, his tongue and his teeth, and Aramis knows that he isn't going to come out of this the same way he went in. 

Porthos is too good at making him moan, is too good with his mouth, with his hands. He licks and bites and pinches, strokes his hands over hot, sweaty skin – and he keeps talking to Aramis, keeps telling him how pretty he looks, what a good boy he is. The leather around Aramis' wrists prevents him from reaching out and burying his fingers in Porthos' curls the way he wants to – prevents Aramis from reaching out and finding an anchor to hold him down and save him from floating away. Porthos is kneeling between his spread thighs, and he's still wearing his damned briefs – and the way his hard cock is peeking over the waistband only adds to the unbearable turn-on of the situation. 

Aramis can't stop staring at it, wants it inside. But Porthos won't stop what he's doing to him, won't stop his torturously slow descent down Aramis' torso, no matter how much Aramis begs him to hurry up. 

"You asked for this," Porthos tells him in a low voice, looking up at Aramis with dark, smiling eyes. "You wanted to play." 

Aramis sobs out a moan when Porthos presses a kiss to the soft skin under his navel, because he knows that Porthos is going to press his teeth into that skin any moment now, and when he does that - 

"You're close to comin' again, aren't you," Porthos says conversationally, and then, instead of applying his teeth to Aramis' body in that wickedly wonderful way of his, he puts his mouth on Aramis' cock. Aramis honestly didn't see that one coming.


	5. Chapter 5

Everything is a blur. Raindrops are drumming against the window pane, relentless and soothing at once. The sound finds its way into Aramis' consciousness, becomes one with the rushing of his blood in his ears. Porthos' mouth is hot around his cock, all lips and tongue and irresistible suction, and Aramis' climax comes over him like a wave of warm water in a stormy sea. It drags him under and pulls him back up, and suddenly Porthos is kissing him, the taste of Aramis' come on his lips making Aramis' spent cock twitch with renewed interest. 

With his hands still fixed to the headboard Aramis is unable to bury his fingers in Porthos' hair the way he usually does, and he can do nothing but strain against his bindings and kiss Porthos back with everything he has. He whimpers, clenches around the dildo in his ass and rocks his hips, is now so sensitive that his whole body seems to sing with pleasure. Porthos kisses him until Aramis is panting for air, and then he pulls back, holds himself up over Aramis with his hands left and right of Aramis' head. "Can you take a little more, darlin'?" 

Aramis bites his lip and nods. He's not quite up to words yet, but he wants more – wants Porthos inside. Porthos smiles at him. "You look ravishin'." 

Aramis certainly feels rather ravished. He takes deep, steadying breaths while Porthos moves lower above him, while he strokes his palms over Aramis' chest and belly as if he wants to make sure that he's still all there. 

"Ready?" he asks eventually, and Aramis nods again, is by now almost overcome by the afterglow of his orgasm. 

It makes him feel sluggish, and warm – utterly invincible. "Go for it," he rasps. 

Porthos grins. "Brave little soldier." He grabs Aramis' left ankle and lifts his leg, deposits it on his shoulder. The new position is as revealing as it is arousing. It shifts the dildo inside Aramis, and he gasps, has to close his eyes for a moment. 

Porthos makes a soothing noise. "I'm gonna take it out now," he whispers. "So keep nice and still for me, alright?" 

Aramis nods, his eyes squeezed shut, his throat arched invitingly as he presses his head back into the pillow. His arms are starting to hurt, just a little, but he doesn't feel it, is far too focused on Porthos and what he's doing to him. He can feel the dildo move inside him, can feel how it slides out, slowly but steadily, leaving him empty. "Porthos," he whimpers, his voice so small and broken that he doesn't recognize it at first. "Porthos, please." 

Porthos makes another soothing noise as he puts the dildo to the side. When he turns back he doesn't move for a heartbeat or two – looks at Aramis out of dark, hungry eyes. Aramis stares back at him, helpless. Porthos smiles at him, suddenly, bright and sweet, and then he pushes those blasted briefs off his hips – just far enough to lay himself bare. As much as he teased Aramis before, as quick and efficient he is now. He slicks himself up, and brings Aramis into a position both comfortable and utterly shameless: with his left leg still on Porthos' shoulder while the other rests in the curve of his elbow. Then he pushes in. 

Aramis welcomes him eagerly. He's completely relaxed, so soft and inviting that it makes Porthos curse and dig his fingers into the skin of Aramis' hips. He's going to leave marks, Aramis knows, and his breath hitches accordingly. Porthos stays like he is for a moment, eyes closed and mouth slack, and Aramis can't stop staring at him – at this wonderful man who gives him so much, and never asks for anything in return. 

When Porthos finally starts to move he does so slowly, as though he wants to savour the sensation and make it last for as long as he possibly can. Aramis doesn't think that's a good idea. 

"Faster," he begs, while his body fights for a semblance of control. "Please, Porthos – you have to move faster." 

Porthos makes a noise somewhere between a groan and a growl, and then he _does_ move faster, allows his hips to snap forward, again and again, in a punishing rhythm that makes Aramis cry out in overwhelmed pleasure. Porthos has never let himself go like this before; he has always been tender and careful – mindful of his own strength; and while he certainly doesn't hurt Aramis, he's never fucked him quite like this. Aramis' mind goes blank with it, with the force and depth of Porthos' thrusts, and he could do nothing more but lie there and let himself be used even if his hands weren't tied to the bed. 

He loses all control over his voice and body, has no idea what he says to Porthos, how loudly he moans. The bed shakes underneath him, ever so slightly, as all his nerve-endings come alight, waiting breathlessly for a second wave to pull him under. It shouldn't be possible, not so soon, but his cock is hard again, ready to spill at the lightest touch. Aramis keeps staring at Porthos, at the way he moves above him – and when his pace suddenly slackens just to pick up speed again, and his hips begin to stutter, Aramis clenches around him quite instinctively. 

He gets a groan out of Porthos, a curse, and his name, whispered revently enough to give him goose bumps. Porthos comes inside him then, and the heat of his release sends such an intense shiver of pleasure through Aramis that he very nearly follows Porthos over the peak. He doesn't – cannot come untouched. His cock remains hard, curves up to his stomach, oversensitive and straining. Aramis whines and twitches, clenches around Porthos' spent cock again and again, until Porthos, with a grunt of effort, reaches up above Aramis' head to free his hands from the headboard. 

They're still bound by the cuffs, but at least Aramis can touch Porthos now – can hook his arms around his neck and bury his fingers in his hair. Porthos moves willingly when Aramis pulls him in, pushes his face into the curve between Aramis' shoulder and neck, and reaches between them to close his fingers around Aramis' cock. 

"Come on then," he murmurs, his lips hot and moist against Aramis' skin. "Come for me, darlin'." 

Aramis couldn't resist him, even if he wanted to.


	6. Chapter 6

Aramis feels like a cooked noodle. His body is warm, exhausted and satisfied, and since he could never have held himself up in the shower, he's in the tub. He would have liked to enjoy his bath with Porthos, but Porthos insisted that Aramis should have the tub to himself. 

"It'd only lead to shenanigans if I went in there with you," he'd said, "and you're not up for that at the moment, are you, kitten?" 

Thus Aramis is enjoying his bath alone, while Porthos has taken over the shower, and is entertaining them both by singing a truly horrible rendition of Andy Kim's [_Rock me Gently_](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=rm5nzdEtKgI). Aramis sighs. He's a little hungry. They kind of forgot to have lunch. 

Porthos turns off the shower at that point, and treats Aramis to a visual of his glorious physique, sopping wet. Aramis sighs again, and then once more when Porthos has wrapped himself in a fluffy towel. "You stay in there for a moment longer and relax, kitten," Porthos tells him in a fond voice. "I'm gonna come an' fish you out once I'm dressed, alright?" He leans over the tub to brush a kiss to Aramis' forehead, and then he's out the door, whistling off tune. 

Aramis lets out another sigh of suffering and affliction, and submerses himself under water. He stays there for as long as he can, and when he comes back up he shampoos his hair and rinses it out with sluggish movements. His arms feel a bit heavy after being tied to the bedframe for so long, but he won't let that stop him. 

Porthos comes back to him just when he's ready to get out of the tub, wraps him in his own fluffy towel, and pulls him close against his chest for a moment – not kissing, or groping … just holding him. Aramis snuggles up to him and closes his eyes. Then his stomach growls. 

Porthos starts to laugh. "Insatiable, eh?" 

Aramis slaps him. Weakly. Porthos laughs a little harder. "Come on, let's get you dressed." 

He transfers Aramis to his room, picks him some truly comfortable clothes to wear, and puts the finishing touch on Aramis by wrapping him in one of his own cardigans. "There," he says, his voice warm. "All ready." 

"For what?" Aramis asks. 

"Cuddlin' on the couch," Porthos replies promptly. "But first I'm gonna make us somethin' to eat. I'm _starvin'_." 

Aramis pinches his butt. "You're the one who's insatiable!" 

"Always have been," Porthos admits with a horrible twinkle in his eye. 

Aramis pulls him down into a kiss. "It was really good," he whispers against Porthos' lips. "I liked it a lot." 

"I noticed," Porthos whispers back. He boops his nose against Aramis' and closes his eyes. "I liked doin' that with you, too." 

Aramis gives him another kiss. 

"Come on now," Porthos murmurs after that moment of excessive bliss. "Food." He schlepps Aramis out of his room and towards the kitchen, and stops in his tracks when he espies a familiar figure on the couch. "Look who's left his cave!" 

Aramis' throat produces a happy little squawk of surprise, and he closes the remaining distance to Athos under his own power. Athos looks a little pale, and in immediate need of a hug, so Aramis gives him precisely that – is rather surprised when Athos closes his eyes and burrows into him with an almost inaudible sigh. "Athos, are you alright?" 

"He's on withdrawal," Porthos explains calmly. "Just snuggle him a bit, and he'll be fine." 

Aramis can do that. He can do that all day. He feels rather needy himself, after what Porthos put him through. So once Porthos has put the finishing touches on an impromptu lasagna and entrusted it to the oven, he returns to a scene of maritime life: two kraken, lovingly strangling each other. 

He huffs. "I want in the middle of that. Right now." Aramis blinks up at him and tries to untangle himself from Athos, which turns out to be surprisingly difficult. Apparently Athos gets very clingy when on withdrawal. "Come on, Athos," Porthos tells him in a gentle voice, crouching down beside the couch. "Let go of him." 

Athos grumbles, but relents, and Aramis is free to move away from him, so Porthos can take the space between them. He takes both of them into his arms then, holds them close, and drops a kiss on each of their foreheads. "You finished with your painting?" he asks Athos, his voice low and soft, as if he doesn't want to startle him. 

"Almost," Athos murmurs back, mushing his face into Porthos' shoulder in a way Aramis has never seen him do before. "It just needs some sparkles." 

"Sparkles?" Aramis mouths, shooting Porthos a confused glance. 

Porthos treats him to the facial equivalent of a shrug. He doesn't know either. He strokes his arm over Athos' back, warm and gentle, and Aramis moves a little closer – pushes himself into Porthos' lap so he can take advantage of the situation and bury his fingers in Athos' hair. Athos sighs. 

"You wanna sleep with us tonight?" Porthos asks then, and Aramis freezes. He'd kind of forgotten. Oh God, oh God, Athos must have heard them. _Oh God_. 

Athos clears his throat. "Only if you put clean sheets on the bed," he says quietly. It's almost a drawl. Aramis twitches. He's going to die. Shamefully. "I really like those earphones Thomas got me for Christmas," Athos continues, his voice as serene as it is soothing. "Their sound quality is exquisite. Drowns out any and all background noise." 

Aramis heaves a sigh of relief so deep it basically comes from the other end of the universe. 

"You thought I would willingly submit myself to listening to you?" Athos asks him, and now there's a grin in his voice, fond and teasing. "As if I would ever do that to myself – or you, for that matter." 

Aramis feels like strangling him a bit. Lovingly of course. "You're horrible," he tells him. With feeling. 

Athos chuckles, sounding an awful lot like Porthos. "Come here," he says, pulling Aramis deeper into Porthos' lap. "That's better, is it not?" 

Aramis blushes, and Athos smiles at him. "I hope Porthos took good care of you?" 

"You know he did," Aramis whispers back, blushing a little hotter still. 

Athos' smile turns soft. "Yes, I know."


End file.
